“At his nurse’s, monsieur.”
At those words the notary was speechless, Monfréville began to laugh, and Daréna rolled about in his chair.
“At his nurse’s!” repeated the notary at last. “Is it possible, Jasmin, that the young marquis is still at his nurse’s, at sixteen years and a half?”
“Yes, monsieur; but never fear, he is none the less well educated; I found a teacher for him, the village schoolmaster, Monsieur Gérondif, who teaches him all that it is possible to teach.”
Daréna roared with laughter anew, when he heard the name of the tutor.
“Educated at his nurse’s!” he cried; “that is delicious; it’s a new method, and perhaps it will become fashionable. I am tempted to return to my nurse myself.”
“Monsieur Jasmin,” said the notary, “I cannot understand how you can have left your master’s son with peasants up to this time. I consider you very reprehensible; you should at least have consulted me.”
The old servant, who was sorely vexed, began to shout at the top of his lungs:
“Monsieur, I am my master’s servant! I am not the man to thwart him and to use force upon him, and it is not my fault if Monsieur Chérubin does not want to leave Nicole, his nurse, and his little foster-sister.”
“Aha! so there’s a little foster-sister, is there? I begin to understand the young man’s obstinacy,” said Daréna; “and how old might the foster-sister be?”